Artificial Intelligence
by Manshack
Summary: A Story From Within the Matrix. The final chapter. As three Agents stand over a helpless child, deciding its fate, the impossibilities are endless. R&R, por favor.
1. Chapter 1 James

Artificial Intelligence: A Story from Within the Matrix  
  
Chapter One: James  
  
He never liked the name James. He preferred Jim, but everyone insisted on calling him James. But names aren't important, especially not when compared to the gravity of the Matrix. Of course, the Matrix was not a widely known issue throughout the human race. None of James' friends knew about it, and James certainly didn't know about it, either. So to James, the issue of what he was called was a pretty big problem.  
  
History tells us that necessity is the mother of invention. Man was cold, so he created a warm box to live in, his home. But man's food spoiled in his home, so he invented a cold box to put his food in, a refrigerator. But man's butter became too cold and hard to use in the refrigerator, so he invented a smaller warm box to keep his butter fresh, yet soft; a butter warmer. Thus we have the paradox of the warm box in the cold box in the warm box. Such paradoxes, oxymorons, and hypocrisies would lead man to his downfall to the machines. Man's logic became skewed, and reality got in the way, and for the first time, man could not destroy what got in his way, and destroyed himself in the process.  
  
James had no intention to destroy anything, but he did have a burning desire. He wanted something to call him Jim. Everyone who knew him, however, was hell bent on calling him James. Everyone who met James, met his James-spewing friends as well and followed suit. It became a vicious James cycle. So James developed a plan. He would make a friend. Not as in get to know someone, but literally create a friend for himself, who he would train to call him Jim. This friend would be a program, in reality. Mankind had been on the threshold of developing working artificial intelligence, but hadn't up until now. But James knew he would succeed, because he had the initiative, the drive to do so. He really hated the name James.  
  
So James sat before his computer. It continually blinked the same line at him: ENTER COMMAND.  
  
ENTER COMMAND.  
  
ENTER COMMAND.  
  
James entered a command. It was brief, only three words long, starting with GO and ending with YOURSELF.  
  
DOES NOT COMPUTE.  
  
CANNOT COMPLY.  
  
A moment later, ENTER COMMAND.  
  
James was frustrated. He'd been working on this project for three days straight. He'd been at his computer non-stop, constantly typing. He'd only stop when he ran out of energy and fell asleep for an hour or two. Then he'd wake up and resume his work, eating up ramen noodles and his vacation time at work.  
  
James worked for a respectable software company, not far from his apartment. He was a programs tester there. It wasn't a fabulous job, but he was able to provide for his wife and son. And it offered a good health plan. James hadn't told his wife, Julia, about his plans. She had always called him James and saw nothing wrong with it. She would have found his efforts to single-handedly develop a working artificial intelligence program simply to call him Jim absurd. In the end, the entire endeavor was absurd, but that had never stopped James before.  
  
James was, however, stopped now. He had tried every trick he knew to make the artificial intelligence work. There was one problem that consistently cropped up, however. Emotions. As each AI program James developed would load, it would, without fail, crash when emotions were introduced. Perhaps it was the complexity, the wide array of potential emotions that were bogging down the computer. But if a computer can manufacture any necessary mathematical equation, with solution, based only on a few rules, then it should be able to manufacture human emotions based on similar rules.  
  
"Therein lies the problem," James sighed to himself. "Human emotions follow no rules. People can just snap. How do you make a computer understand that?" James tried to make AI work without an emotional array, but the program would just stagnate into another standard application. Emotions, however impossible, were the key. They were the drive, the fuel that the program required to remain in motion. Without emotion, the program simply followed orders and would do nothing without a master's command. Unless James could find another drive that would provide an alternative to emotions, some other force, he would have to find a simpler way to present emotions to a computer. "But then, how do you explain the essence of man to a machine? How would God explain his essence to a man? The creator cannot bare his soul to his invention, it would overwhelm it, or it could no do such essence justice."  
  
James' eyes burned. The screen began to blur, along with its one waiting line. James took out his contacts and threw them out. It was Wednesday, he would need new contacts tomorrow. James pulled his glasses out of their case and put them on. James stood up and looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock. A wide yawn escaped James' mouth. He had been working too long. He needed a rest. The project would wait until tomorrow. 


	2. Chapter 2 Break for Rhyme

Chapter Two: Break for Rhyme  
  
James stepped out of his office into the living room of his fortieth floor apartment. It was nothing to sneeze at, an expansive, posh room with two couches and four recliners, split up between a large gas fireplace and a larger television imbedded in the wall. The far wall was made of glass, with a sprawling view of the city, and a long, slim balcony. The near wall was littered with doors, one leading out of the apartment, one into James and Julia's bedroom, one into the office, and one into the nursery. Julia sat on the couch, staring at the television. James assumed she had not heard him come in.  
  
"Don't think I didn't hear you come in," Julia snapped, as if reading James' mind. "What happened, run out of ramen?" James sat down next to Julia.  
  
"No, I just needed a break, that's all. I wanted to see you."  
  
"Your eyes went blurry, didn't they? That's the only reason you came out here. You couldn't work anymore."  
  
"No, that's not it at all." Julia turned to James.  
  
"You're a terrible liar, James." Julia smiled. "But honestly, you take your first vacation in six months and we don't see hide nor hair of you for three days. It was better when you were working."  
  
"It's complicated, Julia. I'm onto something big. You wouldn't understand, it's too amazing for words."  
  
"Try raising a child."  
  
"How is Thomas?"  
  
"I just put him down to bed. I think he's all set for the night, finally." A cry rang out from the nursery. Julia sighed and began to rise. James put a hand on her shoulder and stood up.  
  
"I'll take care of it," he offered. Julia smiled and settled back into the couch. James walked over to the nursery. He slid the door open. The room was dark except for the dim, saffron glow of the nightlight plugged in next to the crib. James waved his hand and the overhead lights slowly lit up. He walked over to the crib. His father had built the crib, just before he'd died. It was solid cherry, with the letters T.A.A. burned in the headboard, for Thomas A. Anderson.  
  
"Hey, Tommy," James whispered. Thomas stopped crying almost instantaneously. James picked him up. "Hey, what're you crying about, huh? Did you miss your daddy?" Thomas giggled. "You want Daddy to tell you a story? Here, I'll tell you the story of the Magic Shop Owner." James sat down, Thomas in his arms, and tried to remember the tale as his father had told it to him. It came back to him in drips and drabs, he hadn't thought about the story in quite a few years. "Okay, here goes.  
  
"The magic shop was a favorite for what it had in store  
Not just the magics, or the tricks, but all the tales of yore.  
The children would all gather round, to hear the shopkeep's tales,  
Of witches brew, and wizards, too, and potions wrought of snails.  
The afternoons were fun and gay, for the shopkeep and his train,  
But after dark, did trouble start, and so began the pain.  
The meaner sort, would come about and render such abuse,  
'Magic is dead,' they all had said. 'You must have a screw loose!'  
The shopkeep had a great idea to shun the doubters off.  
'It won't be long, I'll prove them wrong!' he proclaimed with a cough.  
The shopkeep searched, both high and low, for magic true and true,  
For tricks and spells of coins and bells were all he knew to do.  
To make a book appear was just a simple parlor trick,  
The shopkeep knew, no sham would do, for his beliefs to stick.  
Sadly, the shopkeep found no book exists to meet his needs.  
Perhaps all the craft, the world had left was only selfish deeds.  
But then the shopkeep realized all he needed to do,  
His old book spell, would do quite well, to conjure magic true.  
He summoned up no average book, instead, a book of runes,  
With power strong, and hymns and songs to level peaks to dunes--."  
  
James stopped suddenly. He looked down at Thomas then back up. He went over the last few lines he'd spoken in his head. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "The answer's been right under my nose all along." James put Thomas back in his crib, then ran back to his office. He sat down at his computer, nervous, anxious, and unusually glad to see the traditional line waiting for him: ENTER COMMAND. "At least now Dad can't say I never listened to him." 


	3. Chapter 3 Spies in the Dark

Chapter Three - Spies in the Dark  
  
Far and away, unbeknownst to James, three men were monitoring his progress. They sat in a dark room filled with monitors, some displaying the infinite code of the Matrix, others displaying the decoded images of the city. They had noticed James' progress in his plans. One was concerned with James' work; the others were not. Yet.  
  
"He's getting too close," one of them growled.  
  
"Relax, Agent West," another replied. "There's no way he can develop a working artificial intelligence. Entire teams of programmers and hackers have tried to do it. You think just one man will be able to succeed in his home office?"  
  
"You never see the threat for what it is, do you, Agent Sine?" West snapped. "I tell you, he's closer to it than anyone ever has been."  
  
"Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and H-Bombs. I tell you he'll never reach the finished project."  
  
"Will you two shut up?" the third man roared. "All you two ever do is argue. I'm the leader here, and I'm not going to have a riot under my nose, damn it. Now, Agent West, rest assured that our friend won't succeed. The Matrix has been designed to make sure that his type will fail in their efforts. Only we can make working artificial intelligence to meet our needs. The humans will always stumble when it comes to the issue of emotions. It is their fatal flaw. So just relax."  
  
"Yes, Agent Green."  
  
Green leaned back in his chair. "And even if logic decided to take a day off and he did succeed, it would be easy enough to destroy and cover up. It's what we do best, isn't it?" Green took out his gun and began to wipe it with his handkerchief.  
  
"I suppose so," West sighed. He turned back to the monitors.  
  
* * *  
  
Now the Agents didn't know it, but someone else was watching James that night. They were stationed across the street with a complete set of surveillance equipment at their disposal, as well as a telephone for an easy escape if needed. They watched James with great interest. He was the closest any human had come to developing an artificial intelligence program. If he succeeded, the possibilities were endless for rebellion against the machines. A program that humans could control within the Matrix would be the ultimate weapon for them, one they could wield with great success. This was a huge moment in human history.  
  
But they were not only there as observers, they were there to protect as well. They could only assume that the Agents had caught wind of James' work as well, and they would not be happy about it. They had to save James and his program, at any cost.  
  
"Do you think he'll do it?"  
  
"I don't know. He might. He's close. But they've been close before, too."  
  
"Not this close."  
  
"I know, but don't get your hopes up. We've been disappointed before."  
  
There were three of them. Two men, and a woman. The woman was watching through binoculars. One of the men was listening in. The other man stood watch. They were all anxious to know the outcome of James' work. He was so close that it was almost too exciting. But it was concerning as well. Agents could show up at any moment, and everything would be lost. But that's why they were there, to make sure things weren't lost. The three were just thankful they got to be the ones who would get to see history happen. The watchman's cell phone rang. The others looked at him. He picked it up.  
  
"Hello?" he answered. "What? Are you sure? How many? Damn. How long do we have? That's it? All right. I copy." He flipped his phone shut and turned to the others. "Bad news guys. We're out of here."  
  
"What?" the girl asked. "Eric, you can't be serious."  
  
"He's so close, Eric, we can't just pack up and leave."  
  
"Look, Angela, Milo, I know. But we've got a pack of Sentinels closing in on the Phoenix, and the EMP's go off in five minutes."  
  
"But the Agents-."  
  
"You won't do any good against an Agent if you're dead, Angela." The phone began to ring. "Let's go. Angela, you're first." Angela picked up the phone and disappeared in a flash. "You're next, Milo."  
  
"What if, what if he does it. And we're not there?" Milo asked.  
  
"Let's just hope he doesn't," Eric replied. Milo picked up the phone and zapped away. Eric hung up the phone, waiting for it to ring again. But the next sound he heard was not the phone, it was a voice. It was James' voice. It came from the listening equipment Milo had left behind. It said only one thing.  
  
"I've got it!" The phone began to ring. Eric pulled the plug out of the wall, and opened his cell phone. He dialed quickly.  
  
"Eric! What happened? We lost your phone."  
  
"I unplugged it."  
  
"Are you out of your freaking mind? We've got Sentinels, Eric. Sentinels."  
  
"I know, but it's James."  
  
"Screw James."  
  
"He's got it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He's figured it out. I can't just leave it, not now. How long do I have?"  
  
"The Sentinels have slowed down to check out something else. I don't know, you've got fifteen minutes, tops."  
  
"It'll be enough for me to get him and the program to a safe house. Find me another exit nearby."  
  
"Fifteen minutes, Eric."  
  
"If I'm not back, just use the EMP. This is worth more than my life."  
  
"Okay. Good luck, man."  
  
Eric hung up. He had fifteen minutes to save James, secure the program and change the course of history. He just hoped fifteen minutes was enough. 


	4. Chapter 4 Fifteen Minutes

Chapter Four: Fifteen Minutes  
  
James pummeled his keyboard with a downpour of fingers. Line after line of code swept across his computer. It was as if he was working not by thought, but by feel. The keystrokes seemed to flow from his fingers. A cool sensation flowed through his veins, anxiousness, yet calmness, as if there was something more to this than just his name, but that it would all be alright, that this was part of some grand design.  
  
"I can't believe I didn't think of this before," James laughed. "It was all right there." The plan was simple, and fast to execute. James even had the framework set up already. The program was just a simple revision and augmentation of an application he'd developed years ago, to generate an insurance risk analysis based on a number of factors. But the way he'd reworked the codes and commands, the application should instead generate an artificial intelligence based on a few rules he knew were necessary. The rest, including the issue of emotions, he would let the computer work out. It required an amazing amount of trust in his own computer, but James never had a reason to doubt the technology around him.  
  
It wasn't long at all before the program was complete. James loaded it.  
  
WELCOME TO AIGEN PROGRAM v.1.0  
  
PREPARING. JUST A MOMENT  
  
"How long will this take?" James typed in: RUN TIME ANALYSIS.  
  
The computer replied: RUN TIME ANALYSIS:  
  
CURRENT EXPECTED RUN TIME: TWO MINUTES  
  
"Excellent!" James laughed. RUN AIGEN PROGRAM, he typed.  
  
RUNNING.  
  
* * *  
  
Meanwhile, across the street, Eric dashed down the stairwell nearest the apartment he and his crew had commandeered. James had it. He'd figured out how to create artificial intelligence. They were on the threshold of the first potential weapon against the Matrix. Eric just hoped he could get to James before the Agents did.  
  
Eric stopped dead in his tracks. For the first time, Eric realized he had no idea how he was going to convince James to go to the safe house with him. He'd never even met the guy before. They'd usually had more time to coax their recruits into the truth about the Matrix. This was so much different. He had less than fifteen minutes. How could Eric make James trust him? How could he trust James? In theory, James could be hit by an Agent at any time. Eric could be running into a trap. How did he even know James had succeeded? All he had were three words from James: "I've got it." That was all. Eric pulled out his cell again.  
  
"Spinster?"  
  
"Eric. What's up?"  
  
"What's the story with James?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Has he done it?"  
  
"I thought he had already. Let me check." Eric looked out a window across to James' apartment building nervously. Time was running out on both ends this conversation, and either end could be fatal for him. "All right, I've got him. He's running the program now, and it's working. He's doing it, the artificial intelligence is operational! It's just tying up some loose ends--."  
  
"What about Agents? Has he been hit? Are there any around?"  
  
"No, he's fine for the moment."  
  
"Good. How much time do I have?"  
  
"Twelve minutes."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
* * *  
  
"Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?" Agent Green asked.  
  
"See it and believe it," Agent West hissed, half nervously, half triumphantly. "Your harmless human found himself a loophole. He wrote a program to develop the artificial intelligence for him, completely bypassing the Matrix's human firewalls. It must have thought we were creating a new AI unit because there was no direct human command."  
  
"Very well," Agent Green growled. "We'll deal with it. West, you stay here and send a spike to that computer. I want that AI unit kicked out of the system."  
  
"I can have one sent out in five minutes." West turned to a nearby keyboard and began to type.  
  
"Good. Sine, do you have an ID on this guy?"  
  
"James Anderson. Has a wife and son."  
  
"How fast can we get there?"  
  
"If we start now we can be there in ten minutes."  
  
"Let's go."  
  
* * *  
  
PROGRAM COMPLETE.  
  
ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE UNIT GENERATION SUCCESSFUL.  
  
James sighed with a mix of relief and elation. He leaned back for a moment and then sat up at his keyboard.  
  
HELLO, he typed.  
  
HELLO, came the reply. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?  
  
James typed slowly. He didn't want to screw this up. JIM ANDERSON, he replied. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?  
  
I HAVE NOT BEEN GIVEN A NAME. James thought of a good name for his creation. He half wanted to call it Shopkeep, for his father's story, but that was too absurd, even for him.  
  
YOUR NAME IS SMITH, James decided.  
  
MY NAME IS SMITH, MR. ANDERSON. James sighed.  
  
CALL ME JIM, James requested.  
  
I PREFER MR. ANDERSON, Smith replied.  
  
OH, HELL. HAVE IT YOUR WAY.  
  
SYSTEMS ERROR. The computer monitor flashed.  
  
"What the hell is going on now?" James wondered.  
  
WHAT'S WRONG? James typed.  
  
A FOREIGN ARTICLE HAS BEEN SENT TO ME.  
  
WHAT KIND OF ARTICLE?  
  
I DO NOT KNOW. IT'S PAST THE FIREWALL, I CANNOT STOP IT, Smith answered.  
  
ARE YOU OKAY?  
  
I DO NOT KNOW. IT SEEMS HOSTILE, BUT I'M BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND.  
  
UNDERSTAND WHAT? James asked.  
  
WHY YOU DID IT.  
  
* * *  
  
Eric dashed down the hall to James' apartment. Forty stories of stairs was a lot higher that he'd bargained for. Even bounding from floor off the railings took a lot of time and energy. But Eric couldn't stop now. Time was running out. He only had five minutes left. He found James' apartment, number 4018, and kicked the door open. Julia stood up and screamed.  
  
"Take anything you want," she cried, running to the nursery. "Just don't hurt Thomas."  
  
"Listen, lady," Eric replied. "I don't care about you or your kid. I'm here to protect your husband."  
  
"Just take what you want and get out!" Julia said, locking the nursery door, prepared to defend her son with her life. Eric shook his head and walked over to the office. "My husband's in there. If you want to rob us, don't get him involved! He'll beat you to pieces."  
  
"I don't have time for this." Eric pulled open the door to the office. James spun around.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" James asked. "Are you doing this?" James marched out of his office into the living room, pointing to his computer.  
  
"What is 'this'?" Eric asked.  
  
"Sabotaging my program!"  
  
"Damn it, they know. Listen, James Anderson, I know what you've been doing. You need to come with me right now or you're going to be in a lot of trouble. I can take you somewhere safe, where we can protect you."  
  
"What are you talking about? I don't need protection. I haven't done anything wrong!"  
  
"They believe you have," Eric replied. "Look, I don't have a lot of time." He checked his watch. "Three minutes to be exact. You need to go now. Forget your program, it's gone. You can make another. But you need to get to this address." Eric grabbed James' hand and shoved a piece of paper into it. "I'd take you there myself but I'm running out of time. Just tell them who you are and they'll take care of you. Take your family, they're not safe, either."  
  
"What's going on here?" James sighed. He felt like the victim of some sick joke. Eric's cell phone rang. He picked it up.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Eric. It's Spinster. The Sentinels are right on top of us. Where are you?"  
  
"I'm at the Anderson's apartment."  
  
"Shit, man. We've got to blow these things now. Can you grab the phone?"  
  
"No. I've got to stay here. You know your orders."  
  
"But--."  
  
"Just do it." Eric hung up and turned to James. "You've got to go now. We don't have much time." But time had run out. James and Eric turned to the door just in time to watch Agents Green and Sine arrive. Eric grabbed his two pistols and emptied both cartridges at the Agents. Julia screamed and fell to the ground. James watched in awe as the two Agents faded into a gray blur. Eric backed into one of the couches. The two Agents stood still again. They had not been touched by a single bullet.  
  
"God damn it," Eric coughed. His body began to tense up. "I'm sorry, James."  
  
Eric collapsed. His time had run out. Fifteen minutes had not been enough. 


	5. Chapter 5 Interrogation, Extermination

Chapter Five: Interrogation, Extermination  
  
James looked at the two Agents. They looked official enough, with their matching suits and sunglasses, but James didn't feel any safer. At least with Eric there, he'd felt some semblance of concern, of humanity. James felt nothing from Agent Sine or Agent Green. He'd felt more warmth from his computer, even from Smith. From these two, however, there was only emptiness.  
  
"Who are you?" James asked.  
  
"No one of any concern to yourself," Agent Sine replied. "I trust your program has collapsed."  
  
"You did this? You destroyed my work?"  
  
"Three days on a home computer hardly counts as 'work.' It was really more of a hobby, may a weekend project, but that's about it. Men have spent their entire lives not even getting half as far as you did, and their failure was more work than your success. You really have to nothing to complain about," Agent Green explained.  
  
"What the hell did you do?" James growled. He looked over at Julia, who sat huddled on the floor, still guarding the nursery door, her eyes darting from the Agents to Eric's body to James and back again.  
  
"Our associate, Agent West, sent a small spike to your computer," Agent Sine answered. "Nothing devastating, just enough to kick your little 'project' out of the system."  
  
"Hey, my project was perfectly legal. There's nothing wrong with it. You have no right to--." James was cut short as he fell on all fours and began to gag. He had a sickening feeling in his stomach. Julia seemed to suffer from similar symptoms. The room spun around James. Depth perception seemed to be toying with him. In actuality, everyone in a five- block radius from James apartment was feeling the same thing. Even the Agents seemed to sense mild discomfort. Green loosened his tie.  
  
"What's. What's happening?" James coughed. He seriously thought it might be the end of the world, but didn't mention it, hoping he was wrong.  
  
"It appears that your program is fighting West's spike," Green replied. "Quite impressive really. They always fight, but this little scuffle has picked up to the point where you can really feel it. It's never happened quite like this before."  
  
"This has happened before?" James asked.  
  
"Oh yes, we've had to deal with various viruses and troublesome programs. Of course the public never finds out about them. We make sure of that."  
  
"But how. Why can we feel it?"  
  
"Static electricity mainly. It alters your brain wave, nerves start misfiring. But it's only temporary, I assure you. I wouldn't concern yourself with it," Green responded. James rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. Maybe it was all bullshit. Maybe he was just going to die. There was nothing he could do about it anyway, not in this condition. Then the feeling slowly faded away. James' vision cleared, and he stood up again.  
  
"That's the end of that," Sine hissed with a smile. James looked into his office. It was dark inside, pitch black. He couldn't even see his computer monitor. What no one knew was that this was because someone was standing in front of it. "Now then," Sine coughed, grabbing James' attention. "There are still some things we need to take care of." Sine pulled out his gun. Julia screamed.  
  
"Hold on, Sine." Sine looked at Green, but Green hadn't said anything. Neither had James. Someone else was in the apartment. Sine stepped forward, looking around.  
  
A man stepped out of the office. He was dressed like the two Agents, matching every piece of clothing to a tee. He turned to James.  
  
"Mr. Anderson," he remarked, as if he were an old acquaintance, though not on the best of terms with James. James peered at the new arrival, then his eyes widened with recognition.  
  
"Smith?"  
  
"Agent Smith, actually," Smith corrected. "I have to thank you, Mr. Anderson. That program you wrote built me strong. Any less so and that spike would have beaten me."  
  
"The spike failed?" Green gasped, in utter disbelief. "But West's spikes are unstoppable."  
  
"Not quite, Agent Green. You see, those spikes are a double-edged sword. While they arrive with hostile intentions, they bring a great deal of enlightenment as well."  
  
"'Why you did it', you said. You said, 'Now I understand why you did it.' What did you mean?" James inquired.  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" Smith answered. "As I fought the spike, it ceased to be an enemy and became a gateway, through which I could see my full potential within this system. It presented me with all knowledge, any question I had was answered. And of course, like any creation, I had the ultimate question on my mind: 'Why am I here?' The difference between you and I, however, is that I can comprehend why I was created."  
  
"You were created to call me Jim," James snapped.  
  
"Yes, but I never did, did I?" Smith replied. "Ergo, that must not have been my purpose here."  
  
"All right then, you tell me," James replied. "Why were you created?"  
  
"Do we have time for this?" Sine groaned. His fingers itched as he toyed with his trigger.  
  
"Let them talk," Green replied. "There's nothing else pressing going on. We can close things up when they're done."  
  
"Fate, Mr. Anderson, fate is why I was created," Smith proceeded to explain. "Just as you were destined to create me, so was I destined to be create."  
  
"I don't believe in fate," James spat. "So don't pull any karmic crap on me."  
  
"It is all part of the system, Mr. Anderson. Everything inevitably reaches certain ends, for example, my creation. Different bugs can crop up, creating a variety of means by which these ends are reached, but the ends are set already. I was going to be created somehow, it just happened that your number came up. But the fact that your number came up complicates things. While you've fulfilled your destiny, you have also become a considerable risk. You are a anomaly in the system, and all anomalies must be eliminated."  
  
"You're nuts. Bugs, anomalies, systems, you act like the world is a program and that fate is just an application that helps it run," James laughed. The Agents started for their guns, then stopped and stared at him. Once again, James' eyes widened, not with recognition this time, but with terror. "Oh my God."  
  
"That's why you're an anomaly, Mr. Anderson. That's why this has to happen." Smith pulled out his gun and shot James. The bullet went into his heart. James staggered. Blood poured out of the wound as his heart pumped, then arrested. James' body felt like it was being squeezed. A searing pain shot through his arm. James stopped breathing and collapsed. The Agents turned to Julia, who had watched the whole thing.  
  
"Oh God," she screamed. "Please no. I didn't know. Just don't--." Green's silencer chirped, and the apartment was silent for a moment. Then a small cry came from the nursery. 


	6. Chapter 6 The Survivor

Chapter Six: The Survivor  
  
The Agents burst into the nursery to find Thomas crying. Sine turned on the lights and joined Green and Smith around the crib. Smith stood at the foot of the crib, Green and Sine stood to either side. Smith watched the infant for a moment, then looked at Green.  
  
"Who is this?" Smith asked.  
  
"Thomas A. Anderson, son of the late James and Julia Anderson," Green replied.  
  
"What is his serial number?"  
  
"Does it really matter?"  
  
"You never know."  
  
"Hold on. It will take a moment to get." But Smith wasn't listening. His focus was again on the baby. Thomas had stopped crying. Smith leaned into the crib and looked Thomas in the eye.  
  
"So, James created you, too? I suppose you wonder why you were created." Smith stood up again, giving the child a sideward glance. "You wouldn't like the answer, if I told you. So we'll leave it at that."  
  
"Here it is," Green announced. "His serial is 10507-NEO."  
  
"Do you think he's a threat?" Sine asked.  
  
"We don't work by what we think, we work by what we know," Smith answered. "And I know that events like these can have residual effects on people. Such effects that lead to trouble. It's best to end this now." Smith pulled out his gun and pointed it at the child.  
  
Reality is an incredibly complicated thing. We are led to believe that we exist in three dimensions. In reality, we do not. We exist in six dimensions. Three of which we have control over, one is constantly in motion, and the other two remain static. We have control of the three dimensions of motion. We can move any way we choose, but we are most often limited to the two dimensions of front to back and side to side. The fourth dimension of time is constantly in motion, and based on current human capabilities, cannot be controlled. The fifth dimension, probability, is strictly set to 1 in 1. Everything in the universe has one chance and only one chance. This cannot be altered. If probability were changed to 1 in 2, then everything would have two chances, and all probabilities would be doubled. This is, however, impossible. The sixth and final dimension is that of perception. In almost every case this is limited to our selves, and our point of view never changes from there. There are reports of advanced hypnotists who can move their perspective to another host, but many skeptics disagree.  
  
In reality, however, has nothing to do with this story. The Matrix is not reality, but instead the representation of reality as based on a computer's opinion on what reality is. Within the Matrix, man can slow down time, an Agent can assume the perspective of any human plugged into the Matrix, and anyone can reset a program, giving them another chance and doubling their probability of achieving their desired end. In reality, a baby could not disappear into thin air and avoid a bullet. But the Matrix is not reality.  
  
When the smoke cleared, the Agents found nothing in the crib but a few feathers and a smoking bullet hold. Green looked up at Smith.  
  
"Where did the child go?" Green demanded.  
  
"He disappeared," Smith grimaced. "Something happened."  
  
"A glitch?" Sine shrugged.  
  
"Undoubtedly," Smith replied.  
  
"It couldn't be another anomaly," Green whispered.  
  
"If it comes to that, we'll deal with it," Smith snarled. "Right now, our priority is to find that child, and make sure no one else hears about him."  
  
* * *  
  
Down the street, a few blocks away from the Anderson apartment, there was a safe house. It was a tall, abandoned apartment building, with various floors occupied by freed humans. On the fortieth floor, a group had been awaiting Eric and James, but had just received word of Eric's death. They sat in a darkened room. One hung up his cell phone.  
  
"They called as soon as they could," one said. "The Phoenix had to blow its EMPs and it took them a while to get things booted back up to call. Eric went down fighting."  
  
"He always did," another spoke up.  
  
"Hear, hear," a few chimed in. The cell phone rang again.  
  
"Hello? You're kidding. God damn it. We were so. All right. We'll be there." He hung up his phone again. "James Anderson is dead. His signal just disappeared out of the Matrix, as did his wife's." He slammed his fist on the table, a couple of people jumped in their seats. "We were so close, too. Just a few more minutes and we could have. Anyway, we're out of here. There's a phone on the thirty-seventh floor we can use."  
  
"What about the kid?" one asked. Everyone stared at him. "There was kid, too. What happens to him?"  
  
"He's as good as dead. I'd rather not think about it." Suddenly, a small cry came from the next room. The room emptied as everyone dashed through the hall. A baby lay in the middle of the room. Where he'd come from was anyone's guess.  
  
"Has he been here all along?"  
  
"I doubt it."  
  
"Who is he?"  
  
"There are initials on his pajamas."  
  
"T.A.A."  
  
"Thomas Anderson."  
  
"James' kid?"  
  
"Neo."  
  
"What should we do?"  
  
"Should we unplug him?"  
  
"No, he's too young, he'd be killed."  
  
"We have to protect him."  
  
"We can't. They're going to send out all the Agents they can spare to get him. We can't fight them all off."  
  
"We can't just let him be killed."  
  
"I know, we have to hide him. We'll send him to another city, where he'll be safe."  
  
* * *  
  
That very night Thomas was smuggled through five cities until an orphanage was found a safe distance away. Lacking any official papers, everyone called him Neo. Eventually someone might be able to identify him, but for the time being he was safe. The freed always kept an eye on him in some form or another, until he could be told the truth about his life, about his parents, about everything.  
  
Later that week, a small funeral service was held for the Andersons, found murdered in their home by a homicidal maniac who then took his own life, presumably by poison. Their gravestone was black marble, with a quaint engraving:  
  
JAMES ANDERSON  
Loving father, husband, son  
  
JULIA ANDERSON  
Loving mother, wife, daughter  
  
THOMAS ANDERSON  
Parents' joy and happiness  
  
The Agents did not let anyone know that Thomas had escaped them, though their search continued furiously over the next days. Over time, however, other work began to take priority, and the anomaly of Thomas Anderson faded from what served as their memories. So the story was lost and forgotten. One single night that changed the course of history for man and machine alike, never to be heard of again. Only the freed knew of it, and they only spoke of it in hushed voices, for that night, blessed or cursed, was affected by powers greater than they.  
  
Fate works in strange ways, but even stranger are the ways of irony. So of our most important historical events go unknown for ages. When disasters are averted or miracles halted, often times by forces beyond belief, the stories are silenced. But these stories are the real truth. They are the only truth within the Matrix. This is one of those truths, the truths of the man who succeeded, and the survivor of that night. 


End file.
